Some Like it Hotter

He paced again, glanced at his watch. Again. Where was she? Would she be wearing a plaid skirt with a glittering striped top and gold lamé platform sneakers?

Ames grinned. Now that would be something. He would love to see Mrs. Boyce’s face.

The door to the guest room opened—Eva had insisted on dressing in private.

“Ready?” He kept his voice calm and cheerful, waiting for her to appear.

She appeared.

Ames’s jaw dropped. He looked her over slowly, top to bottom, bottom to top, and just to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing, top to bottom again.

She was absolutely beautiful, in a little black dress, hair pulled back in a sleek whatever-it-was-called, and a sexy tiny hat-thing with feathers.

Beautiful, and flawlessly, stupendously, amazingly...normal. “Eva.” His voice came out low and thick. “You look incredible.”

“Think so?” She patted her skirt, clearly pleased by his reaction.

“I’m blown away.”

“Yeah?” Her smile dazzled him. She was...perfect. For the dinner. And for him.

“You look handsome, too.” She moved toward him, not her usual loose-limbed gait, but precise, model-worthy steps in high black evening sandals. “I love that tux. Not quite regulation, you rebel. You did that for me, didn’t you?”

“Sort of.” He was humbled by her, her eyes shining in gratitude when it was he who was incredibly grateful. She’d done this for him. So she wouldn’t embarrass him. So she’d fit in. She’d suppressed her natural impulse to stand out in a crowd.

For him.

“You didn’t have to do this, Eva.”

“Do what?” She blinked innocently.

He rolled his eyes. “But I want you to know how much I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And I want you to know that if you had shown up in Lady Gaga’s dress made out of meat, I still would have taken you to the dinner proudly.”

“Including all the dogs and cats who followed me into the restaurant?”

“Them, too!”

“That means a lot to me, Ames.” She giggled, but her eyes were glowing with sincerity and affection...and more? He hoped so. He desperately hoped so. Though what they were going to do about these growing feelings if she was leaving next week...

“Let’s go.” He offered her his arm, heart bursting with pride, and a certain amount of relief, yes—he was only human. This dinner wouldn’t make or break his career, but he hadn’t been looking forward to making it a battleground.

They took a taxi to La Grenouille Laide, on Fifty-First Street near Seventh Avenue, holding hands. Tightly. Not speaking much. When had he ever known Eva to be this quiet? He was annoyed at himself for putting her through this.

“It’s not going to be that bad.”

“No, no, I know.” She smiled bravely, which made his heart flip over in his chest. He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to go, that they could play hooky, get a beer and burger at P.J. Clarke’s on Fifty-Fifth and Third.

But this evening was important to them as a couple. No question, his feelings for Eva were deepening, becoming more and more significant. But if they couldn’t navigate each other’s worlds, their relationship would eventually be doomed to isolation and lack of communication. While opposites attracting made for romantic press, there had to be some common ground and understanding or they could end up circling each other without a true connection.

Really, no pressure, though.

The cab pulled up at the restaurant. Ames paid the driver, got out and offered a hand to Eva, who took it and emerged from the cab with effortless controlled grace. Who was this woman? She was fantastic. She could even walk naturally on high, spiky heels, one of those mysterious female talents men would never understand.

“Ready?” He offered her his arm to walk into the restaurant.

Her smile was demure. She inclined her head graciously and took his arm. “Never in a million years.”

A snort of laughter escaped him before he could get his poker face on. “Très bien, mademoiselle. Allons-y.”

“Ah, oui, blah, blah, blah!”

Giggling, they marched into the restaurant, a relaxed and elegant room in gold, beige and cream with well-spaced tables and waitstaff as far as the eye could see. Ames identified himself to the maître d’, who pointed them toward a back room.